Interpreting the Signs
by braveangel13
Summary: When Dean started talking again after Mary's death, it was through sign language and time. / Sam doesn't know why Dean taught him ASL, and it takes a repetition of events for him to find out. (Featuring ASL, too many parenthesis, and two seconds of Castiel. T for my inevitable swearing)


A/N: Hello! I was supposed to be writing Words that Escaped but this came out instead... The idea has been with me for a while.

I'm currently learning a bit of ASL- certainly not a lot, but I'm trying- so I wanted to explain a few things. Sign doesn't follow the same grammar rules as spoken or written English. I tried to articulate that (especially through the formation of questions), but there were some instances in which I probably didn't. If anyone wants to show me a better way to articulate any of my transcriptions of their signing, let me know and I'll fix it.

 _Italics_ indicates sign but also thoughts so use context! (sorry)

Also I have only seen like four episodes of season twelve because life hates me so... facts may not be factual.

That being said, let's get on with it! Happy reading, y'all, and have a fantastic rest of your day!

* * *

When Dean was little, especially after Mary died, he didn't talk. It wasn't because he couldn't, but rather because he felt like he didn't matter (or that was Sam's theory, anyway).

Sam remembered Dean talking, but there were times that he wouldn't. And so, the two of them learned sign language.

It started when Dean began to take care of Sam. When Mary was still alive, she'd taught Sam some sign language that mothers will teach their babies to help the mothers discern why the baby is crying (For instance, Sammy knew the one for food and a variation of bathroom).

Dean had been told about these by Mary when he was trying to learn how to be the best big brother ever.

So, when John was "distracted" by his whiskey, Dean didn't have to bother him with feeding and changing Sammy (things he'd been learning how to do before Mary died, and he'd struggled at first but eventually got it down through remembering and trial and error).

The trend only continued when Dean started school. The preschool he got signed up for was one that had an ASL program built into it, which made him more curious and serious about learning the language.

Dean seriously practiced each movement and would whisper the meanings to Sammy every spare moment he had.

When he moved schools, they didn't teach ASL anymore, but Dean kept practicing what he knew all the way up until first grade, when his teacher, Mr. Woodshaw, recognized the shapes Dean Winchester would form with his hands during spare moments not as randomness, but as words.

He knew Dean didn't talk much, and didn't have any friends, so one day he pulled Dean aside and asked if he'd like to learn how to sign during lunchtime.

The boy lit up, and Mr. Woodshaw knew he'd made the right decision.

Dean learned and retained much more than Mr. Woodshaw thought was possible for a seven-year-old, but he learned that Dean was wickedly smart for someone his age and much too solemn.

When he found out the boy's mother had died, he then realized that he maybe shouldn't be encouraging the boy's silent habit, and he sent a note home saying that Dean should maybe take a psych eval.

The next day, Dean Winchester was gone.

* * *

It really did come in handy, through the years. Sam, of course, learned how to speak out loud, and so did Dean as time passed.

But, Dean never gave up on the sign language. (Not only did he find it easier than talking sometimes, but he thought it was cool to have a "secret language" with Sam).

When he and Dean were alone, they spoke with words and sign at the same time to make it more natural.

It was especially handy when they had to be very quiet (something that was a Requirement, being children of John Winchester), when they discussed plans, and when they talked about hunts in public places.

One especially memorable case was a werewolf that targeted deaf people. Dean and Sam had run all the interviews of that case, getting John valuable information that he never would have been able to solve the problem without.

* * *

Sam always heard people talk about growing up in a bilingual family. They'd describe it as different things, most of which contained the phrase "crossing languages." Oddly enough- though he didn't realize it until Stanford- Sam, too, had been a part of those households.

He didn't even know how he learned to sign like a person doesn't know how they learned to speak their native language or how to read or walk.

It was a constant part of his life; in the back of the Impala, across libraries during research, to bitch about something to Dean without Dad noticing- Sam had been using ASL all his life. He didn't even think of it as a second language until, one day, when he got lost (sue him, it was freshman year and Stanford's campus was huge. Not to mention, someone gave him shitty directions). The only people near him were two girls signing to each other.

One was a pretty blonde and her friend, a brunette.

Upon seeing them, he smiled in relief and walked over, only hesitating for a moment before attempting to ask if they could help find his way.

 _Excuse me,_ he signed, _but law school- where?_

The girls looked at him in shock for a minute, and he stared blankly back.

 _If you don't know, sorry I asked._ He signed, unsure.

They glanced at each other for a moment before one of them replied slowly, _Sorry, we didn't expect you to know sign. Not many people do._

He smiled and nodded a bit. _True. I learned because my brother taught me._

The other girl looked interested now too. _Cool! Your brother learned- why?_

Sam thought about it for a moment before he realized he couldn't come up with an answer. _I don't know, actually._ He signed slowly, his confusion evident. _He just wanted to learn, I guess._

Both of the girls looked at each other, shrugged, and the blonde one asked him, _So, your name- what? My name: J-E-S-S._ The blonde followed up her statement with a little wave, which Sam found endearing.

 _Hi J-E-S-S. My name: S-A-M._ He finger-spelled neatly.

Lastly, the brunette girl smiled at him while signing, _Hi S-A-M. My name: N-I-C-O-L-E._

Needless to say, Sam didn't make it to class that day. He did, however, make two friends who knew how to sign.

But, it kept bothering him. He didn't know why Dean had started to learn how to sign in the first place. Unfortunately, it wasn't like he could ask, as they'd had no contact since Sam left.

Eventually, he forgot about it. The thought didn't even resurface when Dean showed up on his doorstep, his facade in place but his hands shakily signing every word he said, a sign of anxiousness.

Sam just hopped in the car.

* * *

They used sign so many times on hunts that Sam had an entire bank of words they'd made up having to do with hunting equipment (to be fair, he couldn't blame the makers of official ASL for not having a sign meaning "Goofer Dust" or a succinct sign for "Dead Man's Blood"). From "salt rounds" to "pick this lock" to "salt-n-burn," they'd made a quick gesture for them all.

When they needed to be silent, a quickly signed sentence could save their lives or the lives of victims. It was handy, and they would slip into it sometimes, only to not come out of it until they were forced to speak (Not that either one of them noticed this overuse of sign, but sometimes it would be so long that Sam's voice would be gravelly with disuse).

Of course, he noticed that Dean signed more when he was in a bad mood or upset over time, but Sam would do that sometimes too, so he never really thought about why Dean started out doing it that way.

After they found Castiel for the first time, when Dean had returned from hell (again, for the first time), he had to translate sign for Bobby for three days before Dean was speaking again.

When he did speak, it was after they finished dealing with the Witnesses.

For days after, Sam could only see Dean's face: cautious and flickering with fear, voice low and disused as he said and signed, "So, I guess that means you believe in the Devil." Every time he closed his eyes, the flashback would play and his stomach knotted up.

They'd gone back and forth as the years went by, but none had been quite so bad (or intentional) as that first time Dean had been in hell.

* * *

At first, Sam didn't even notice. Even though he knew that Dean was quite upset when Mary had left, he thought Dean would be a little hurt, but overall fine with what was going on.

Of course, Dean signed to him, but that was practically to be expected. He got his mother back then lost her. Sam understood.

Sam, however, just went on with his life. All he knew of Mary used to be stories, and if he got to know her in any way, that was fine. In the following time frame, he just needed to make sure Dean had some space to do his thinking like he normally wanted when he was in a mood.

 _We've been through worse,_ Sam thought. _Dean will get over it._

But then, several days later, Sam was keyed into something being amiss. Oddly enough, he only figured it out by accident.

Sam felt a little hungry, so he was in the kitchen making some food when he heard voices in the living room. Curious, he stopped making his sandwich and listened.

"Dean, I am confused." Sam identified Castiel's voice. "I understand that you use the American Sign Language upon occasion, but never has it been this long since you've used your voice since…"

Cas paused here, and Sam guessed that Dean was signing. He peeked his head around the corner just enough so he could watch his brothers hands.

He only caught, _-about that Cas, don't make me-_

"Dean." Castiel sounded anguished, which surprised Sam. "You don't have to be silent again. Mary did not leave because of you, and Sam and I are here for you."

Sam's eyes widened. _How could he think mom leaving is his fault?!_ He thought.

 _Cas, no. Stop talking. I don't-_ Dean's hands shook slightly, Sam could tell even from how far away he was.

"Dean, you need to hear this. You matter. All your mother needed was some space to figure things out."

Dean just turned away waved Cas off, which had become Winchester-S-L for anything ranging from "sure" to "you're entitled to your own opinion, dumbass" to "fuck off." Sam decided this instance was a mixture of "sure" and "fuck off."

He watched as Castiel sighed and walked out of the room, clearly noticing that Dean was no longer going to listen to him.

Sam, however, narrowed his eyes in concentration, resuming to make his sandwich while deep in thought.

Castiel had mentioned that it was the longest time Dean had gone being silent since…

 _Since what?_ Sam wondered. Then it hit him. " _Mary did not leave because of you."_

Cas didn't just mean this time.

Dean had gone silent when Mary died.

The thought hit him like a weight in the chest, and a question long forgotten rose to the surface.

 _Why did Dean learn ASL? Well, because he wouldn't talk due to mom's death._ The voice in his head was bitter, but also downtrodden.

(The sandwich was going to have the most perfectly spread condiments on it ever at this point, but Sam's focus was elsewhere.)

It made Sam sick to think of. This language he'd considered an integral part of his identity he'd learned only because his brother, in times of trauma, wouldn't speak. He was glad Dean had taught him, but the reasoning behind it felt unbearably sad.

Sam vowed, right then, that he would better support Dean through this. Subtly, otherwise he'd notice, but Sam knew something needed to be done.

So, he glanced down, made another sandwich, and carried the plate out to where Dean was sitting.

"Hey, I have some food if you want."

 _I promise I'm here for you. It's not your fault. It'll be okay._

He only got a small smile in return, but it was a start.

 _Soon I'll have you talking again. We'll be okay, big brother._


End file.
